


Christmas, Crooks, and Space-Time Continuums

by whatkindoftea (haeli)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Holidays, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haeli/pseuds/whatkindoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sent back to the year 2013 to apprehend a renegade embezzler, Yunho and Changmin need to learn to blend in with the holiday festivities and make their “boyfriends” cover believable - but not too believable. Changmin is definitely struggling with one of those objectives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas, Crooks, and Space-Time Continuums

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dentedsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentedsky/gifts).



> This happens in a parallel universe where everything is the same but two guys holding hands in public doesn’t draw negative attention. Just... covering my bases.

 

They get it wrong the first time. In fact, Changmin has a suspicion that they only way they could have gotten it _more wrong_ is if they had landed in the middle of the battlefield itself.  

 

“Are those arrows?” Yunho ducks behind one of the hills scattering the area, pulling Changmin along behind him and staring just in front of them where arrows are stuck into the ground like strange wooden posts, and Changmin wants nothing to do with any of this.  The loud sounds of fighting, people shouting and dying swell just behind the mound of earth, and somewhere a horse screams. Changmin wants to be out of here _now_.

 

“Yunho, we missed our point!” Changmin scrambles for what was supposed to be a boring normal backpack, but now it looks so out of place he’s sure they’ll be summarily killed on the spot if anyone sees them. 

 

“I’m well aware that the jump didn’t go as planned,” Yunho mutters, voice poised as fingers flying across the thin pyrex-glass screen of their time continuum manipulator - a smaller version of the ones found in each room of the Bureau’s main building - a building located many, many centuries in the future. 

 

“Are we recalibrated?” Changmin asks, glancing over his shoulder as he loads and charges his Beretta-4 Pulse, trying to split his attention between Yunho and covering them from any potential discovery. 

 

“Nearly there,” Yunho mutters, eyes fixed on the incandescent screen, the blues and greens reflecting in his eyes, and Changmin feels anxiety tighten in his gut as the noises behind them get closer, louder, more dangerous.  Changmin’s hand twitches on his gun, but waits patiently for his partner to do his job and get them out of here.

 

“Okay!” Yunho grabs Changmin’s wrist to put his hand back on the device, “Jumping in three, two, one...”

 

The familiar sensation of jumping overwhelms Changmin’s senses, and he gives into the feeling of being plunged into a heavy, opaque, electrified liquid, letting it carry him through the fabric of space and time.  It’s a sensation Trackers eventually get familiar with over the course of dozens of jumps, but it’s never really comfortable.  Changmin remembers to breathe as everything presses inwards and pulls him down, down, down, through years and miles and lifetimes.  

 

The only good thing is that as quickly as it starts, the sensations cease, leaving both Yunho and Changmin gasping for breath and fighting back a wave of nausea would have Changmin heaving and sweating when he was still a rookie.  He’s since learned to keep it together, but the dizziness of time travel can’t be avoided even if you’ve been doing it for ten years.  Changmin shivers and realizes it’s freezing cold, noticing the flakes of white floating down from the sky and dusting the concrete world with a soft fluffy glaze.  People scurry along the streets, bundled in scarves and coats, and Changmin makes a mental note to get some of those things tomorrow.  But that’s only if they’re staying. 

 

“Did we make it?” Changmin leans against the brick wall behind him, still feeling unsteady, right hand clutching their black backpack with all of the papers, cards, and directions they’ll need to set up their cover.

 

“I think so,” Yunho mutters, back to staring at the screen, running diagnostics and algorithms and trying to figure out just when they ended up.  Changmin glances out of the alleyway to give his partner some peace, noting with satisfaction that they must be around the right decade if the smartphones and cars are anything to go by (and they usually are).  People are everywhere, bundled up tight against the cold Seoul winds, moving around in small packs, and Changmin watches everything with a growing sense of anxiety.  If they actually landed in 2013, then there are nearly ten million people in this city, and he and Yunho need to find one.  CEO’s who embezzle and jump are Changmin’s least favorite kind of target - they’re always smart and desperate. 

 

“Today’s date is December 3, 2013!” Yunho shouts, eyes bright and grin wide as he looks at Changmin with relief and triumph, “The jump was successful!”

 

“Thank fuck,” Changmin slouches harder against the wall behind him, returning Yunho’s eager grin with a lopsided one of his own.  “Let’s go find the apartment the Bureau has for us and get ourselves sorted.”

 

Yunho pockets the manipulator, “Lead the way, Changmin.”

 

* * *

  

The apartment is small but clean.  Nondescript.  Textbook example of the type of cover the Bureau usually goes for on cases like this.  The normalcy helps Trackers blend in and adapt while they search for their time-skipping criminal targets.  There’s only one problem with this particular example.

 

“Only one bed,” Changmin sighs, propped against the door frame of the lone bedroom in the city apartment. 

 

“It’s okay, the couch is pretty comfortable,” Yunho mutters from said couch, sprawled across the three cushions, “We can take turns.” 

 

Changmin doesn’t bother replying - they’ve been together long enough that 50% of their conversations don’t even need to happen out loud anymore. 

 

“So what’s our cover?” He wanders into the tiny kitchen, noting the lack of dishwasher with a grimace.  He hates trips this far in the past.  How did humans manage without instant sanitization? It’s amazing the race survived with just hot water and soap.

 

Shuffling through the papers on his chest, Yunho reads, “My name is Jung Yunho - oh nice, they let us keep our actual names - and I currently work at Lotte World in the menswear section.  I need to go down there tomorrow to meet with the Bureau’s satellite operator.  They’ll plug me in and get me started next week. And you, Shim Changmin,” Yunho smiles over the arm of the couch, face upside down, and short dark hair standing on end.  Changmin tries to ignore the way it makes Yunho’s cheeks round and his eyes curve and listens to his own backstory, “Work at a local bookstore.  Apparently you have an affinity for old fashion magazines and architecture books.  You start tomorrow! Another satellite agent runs the shop, I guess.” 

 

More shuffling as Yunho hauls the backpack onto his lap, “Good thing they gave us T-Cards already.  You need to be in Hongdae at ten in the morning.” 

 

“A clerk?  Easy enough,” Changmin shrugs, gathering his fake ID into the leather wallet most men used during this century.  It’s brown and smooth, and Changmin smiles, momentarily indulging in the rich material.  Maybe the twenty-first century wasn’t completely barbaric. 

 

“Uh,” Yunho stutters, and Changmin barely manages to strangle a responding groan of frustration.  

 

“What?”

 

“The rest of our cover,” Yunho tries to keep his voice nonchalant, and it sets off alarm bells in Changmin’s mind, “There’s a couple more things.”

 

Silence follows the statement, but Changmin is fine with making his partner feel awkward.  In fact, it’s one of the things he lives for most days.  He waits it out with one eye brow arched in a condescending line. 

 

“Right,” more shuffling, “Apparently something called ‘The Christmas Season’ is happening right now, which I don’t really recall learning about during training, so we should probably figure out what’s going on there.  And also we’re dating.” 

 

“Dating?” Changmin wants to cry, “I don’t remember asking you out.”

 

“No, our _covers_ are dating,” Yunho jabs at the last page of their debriefing form with an accusatory finger, “We met in college, but it took us a while to get together.  Our fifth anniversary is coming up.”

 

“Fifth anniversary?” 

 

“Yeah,” Yunho has this funny look on his face, like he’s really giving this serious consideration, “Wow I must really like you if I stuck around for that long.”

 

“Yunho, we’ve been working together for ten years.”

 

“Ah, that’s true,” Yunho flushes and fidgets on the couch, tossing the papers on the nearby coffee table, and Changmin’s fingers itch to straighten the mess out. Static fills the air, distorting their natural intimacy, and Changmin nearly springs on a chance to change the topic.  

 

Crouching by the table, he flicks through the papers himself, “Now what’s this Christmas thing again?” 

 

Yunho shakes the awkwardness with rapidity that has Changmin sighing in relief as he pulls out a phone the Bureau gave them for their trip.  It has a flat touch screen, but it’s still bulky and boring in comparison to the technology they’re used to having at their fingertips.  Yunho frowns as he uses the antique, searching the term. 

 

“Seems like a winter festival of some kind? There are trees and lights and brightly colored boxes,” he mutters, squinting at the screen before turning it to show Changmin a picture of a tree that’s been covered in tiny strings of lights and sparkling decorations with odd-shaped packages scattered around the bottom.  It’s completely ridiculous.

 

“People bring that into their homes?”

 

“It seems like it,” Yunho heads to something called a “wikipedia page,” before reading further, “There’s some sort of religious connotation to it.” Changmin groans and flops onto the ground, and Yunho only spares him an amused glance before continuing, “But it seems like most people just celebrate it as a time for family and friends.  They give each other gifts in the boxes.  There are even special songs for the celebration.”

 

With a couple of swipes, a tinny recording plays through the phones speakers, a bouncy jingle about sleighs and cold weather and chestnuts.

 

“This is absurd,” Changmin mourns from his place on the floor, throwing an arm across his eyes, “When is the actual celebration? We need to make sure we find Yang before then because I am not singing any song that sounds like that.”

 

“It’s on the 25th of December, so in about three weeks.” 

 

“Great,” Changmin heaves himself off the floor, “I’m going to take the bed tonight because I have work in the morning.  Okay, honey?” He makes sure the sarcasm drips from the final words, slowly reinforcing the wall between his job and his heart, and Yunho laughs. 

 

“Alright, good night, Changmin.”

 

* * *

  

This is terrible.  Absolutely terrible.  A disaster waiting to happen. Changmin rolls onto his side and clutches the blankets in his hands.  The quilt wraps tighter about his curled up body, and he tries to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  The feeling that’s trying to claw its way up his throat and make him say all the dumb things he’s managed to keep choked back over the last two years.  Stupid things like “This whole boyfriends cover story isn’t so bad.” Or maybe even, “I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t a cover.”  

 

Absolutely not going to happen.  He’s work too hard - _they’ve_ worked too hard - over the last decade to ruin it now. 

 

“I’m going to die,” he tells the darkness of the room.  Three weeks in this tiny apartment with Yunho.  Three weeks of cold weather and holiday cheer and Yunho.  Three weeks of pretending to be Yunho’s boyfriend during a season when couples snuggle under blankets and drink hot chocolate and champagne and kiss under some weird herb that gets hung up randomly in stores and houses and _oh fuck he’s going to die_.

 

“Christmas is the worst thing ever,” he declares and draws the blankets up over his head in an attempt to smother himself into sleep. 

 

He dozes, and he’s plagued by images of his partner.  Yunho wearing colorful, garish sweaters, cheeks pink with the cold, and smiling at Changmin with all the warmth he can handle.  His lips are soft and his breath tastes like cinnamon and apples, and Changmin wants to get lost in the soft press of Yunho’s mouth against his until his alarm wakes him with a shrill car horn at 7:45 for work. 

 

* * *

  

The shop really is tiny.  Tucked away on a side street that faces the university, it’s quiet and unobtrusive, and it happens to be a satellite operations front for the Bureau.  Agents who get attached to a time period or agents that don’t want to make any more jumps spend a couple of years on rotation at the outposts, acting like a base of operations for agents who get sent back to hunt someone down.  

 

Changmin gets on well with the operator.  His name is Kyuhyun and he’s kind of a bastard, but Changmin’s kind of a bastard too, so it ends up working - in a constant spiral of sarcasm and jokes and gossip kind of way.  

 

The shop is rarely busy, so Changmin spends most of his time at the store trying to track down Yang Jinho, who has done one of the best jobs of disappearing with a large sum of money that Changmin has ever seen.

 

“Don’t people usually want to buy a car or something?” He groans when his scour for luxury purchases come up empty once again, frustrated at the trail going nowhere after eight days of searching.  

 

“Why should I know?” Kyuhyun responds from behind a shelf of old western magazines with photographs of Margaux Hemingway smirking up from the covers, “If I had wanted to be a Tracker I wouldn’t have volunteered to be a satellite operator.  That’s your job.” 

 

“You’re such an asset to have around,” Changmin closes out the computer windows and unplugs his Tracker-Jack from the USB port, returning the computer’s functionality to something more familiar to the early twenty-first century. 

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Kyuhyun emerges with a stack of large books, shit-eating grin split from ear to ear, and Changmin wonders for the hundredth time if maybe some people really are born in the wrong era.  Kyuhyun is so content with his books and video games and public transit, but Changmin finds them all tedious and wants to leave as soon as possible. 

 

Kyuhyun shelves a couple of volumes, commenting, “But it won’t get you extra hours.  Go home.” 

 

Back to the apartment with Yunho and the inexplicable tension that’s been creeping between them, making things that were once easy into something stilted and ugly and difficult.  Most evenings Yunho comes back from his “job” at the department store, babbling on and on about his coworkers and the things he sees, and he just seems completely in love with this place and time, and it shouldn’t be a problem.  But it is, and Changmin knows it’s his problem, knows it’s because he can’t keep walking down to the local grocery store with Yunho’s hand on his lower back and smiling at each other and not have it completely ruin him when this mission’s over. 

 

But he goes back anyway, opening the apartment’s door with his mouth set in a firm line, only to have it drop open at the sight of a tree too large for their limited living space sitting in the corner and Yunho doing little twirls around it as he throws lengths of something shiny and metallic over the branches.   Some bouncy song plays from the little stereo Yunho acquired from a store near his work. 

 

“What the hell is that?” The words fall out of Changmin’s gaping mouth before he can stop them.

 

With another quick turn, Yunho faces him, grin beaming, “It’s a Christmas tree! And this,” he holds up a wad of the shining foil, “is called tinsel.  Apparently it’s a little out of date, but I loved the way it drapes and shines.”

 

Changmin stares at the holiday abomination and Yunho’s enthusiasm and feels a curdling resentment in his chest because he actually _likes_ it.  He likes the way all of this stuff makes Yunho smile and bubble, and he likes the way it lights up the tiny apartment - makes it feel like a home.  But it’s all fake - it’s all for a fucking job, and he can’t stand it. 

 

“We’re supposed to be working,” Changmin snaps, building up the wall a little more, “We’re supposed to be hunting our target down, and instead you’re buying ugly trees and tinsel and decorating the apartment?  Have you completely lost your mind?”

 

“Changmin,” Yunho puts the decorations down, a frown creasing his forehead, and Changmin feels a little guilty but can’t stop himself. 

 

“Are you even trying to finish the mission?” He pulls his scarf off with a vicious tug, relishing the way it burns around his neck and makes him even angrier, “What do you even do all day at that fake job of yours?”

 

“You mean besides actually work?” Yunho narrows his eyes, and Changmin feels a delightful spark work it’s way up his spine as the tension that had been building freezes and cracks, so he pushes against it harder, wanting it to shatter.

 

“Yunho,” Changmin hangs his coat up neatly before turning back to his partner, “you are not an employee at a fucking department store.  You’re a God damn Tracker.  You can _time travel_ ; you are _not from this period_ , and you’re just-”

 

“Real estate,” Yunho cuts across Changmin’s tirade and watches him carefully, an amused quirk to his mouth.

 

“You - what?” 

 

“He’s going to start buying real estate,” Yunho steps around the couch, and Changmin just watches him warily, wanting to keep the argument going but knowing Yunho’s about to turn it on its head like he always does.  

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“You had said there wasn’t any movement in luxury items or any conspicuous shell companies being set up, right?”

 

“Yes,” Changmin feels like a massive asshole because _of course_ Yunho was listening. 

 

“Well that really only leaves real estate for Yang to go to.  We should watch apartment complexes or areas of land with the potential for resorts.  Those are hot right now, and without any other knowledge of this time period, that’s where a panicking CEO will go.”

 

“How,” Changmin takes a deep breath and tries to let his helpless frustration collapse on itself and turn inwards, “How did you figure that out?”

 

Yunho’s smile is back, and he’s standing close enough to rest his hand on Changmin’s shoulder, but it’s too close to his neck, and Changmin tries not to shake when he feels Yunho’s thumb brush over his throat.  The touch should be reassuring, but Changmin’s too twisted up and tangled over everything that it almost stings, and all he can do is stare back at Yunho, open and hungry.  It doesn’t go unnoticed. Yunho stops the light touches, and instead gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

 

“You should see some of the people who come into this department store, and how easily they’ll talk to people they think have no use for the information.”  Changmin doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods, slow and apologetic because after ten years he should know Yunho - hard working, perfectionist, borderline-impossible Yunho - would never be twiddling his thumbs on a mission.  

 

“I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out when Yunho finally steps away, hand falling back to his side.

 

“It’s okay, Changminnie,” the nickname is the comfort Yunho’s touch wasn’t - less immediate but just as familiar, “Is there something wrong?”

 

It’s the one question that Changmin can’t really answer, and wouldn’t want to even if he could.  Instead he just shakes his head and tries for a tired smile, “Just frustrated with the case.  I’m sorry.”  Yunho believes him of course, and the angry atmosphere relaxes into a pause where neither of them really look at each other. 

 

“Changmin?” Yunho asks quietly, and Changmin finally looks up to see Yunho contemplating the tree.

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Do you really think it’s ugly?” Lips pursed and brow furrowed, Yunho looks genuinely concerned and way more adorable than a twenty-nine year old has any right to be, and Changmin can’t stop the grin that splits his face and the lightness that slowly unfurls in his stomach.  

 

“Well, it’s not particularly beautiful,” he admits, “But no, it’s not ugly.  I - I like the tinsel.” Yunho turns to beam at him, and Changmin feels heat in his ears and cheeks at the unhindered happiness.  He makes his escape to the kitchen, fighting down that unsteady sick feeling that’s becoming harder and harder to keep at bay. 

 

* * *

  

It hits him while he’s sitting on the couch, waiting for Yunho to finish up in the shower. 

 

 _He feels happy_.  

 

The realization comes in a slow wave like the pulsing of a distant music note.  Going to his dumb fake job at the little store and coming back to this small, outdated apartment makes him happy, and it’s because of who he’s coming back to, and he wants to scream and sing and paint a mural, and it’s absolutely _terrifying_. 

 

The last week had felt new after their argument.  Something plateaued, and Changmin couldn’t bring himself to be as guarded and angry as he had been.  It’s bad for the mission; it’s bad for his friendship with Yunho; and it’s bad for him.  Now, when Yunho tries to thread their arms together on their errands, Changmin pulls him a little closer and leans against Yunho’s warmth like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Yunho always leans back and it makes Changmin’s cravings worse.  

 

They keep their ears and eyes and communications open, waiting for Yang to pop up on their radar because he will eventually.  You don’t abscond with millions in gold and travel six hundred years in the past and simply disappear, especially not with Yunho and Changmin on your trail.  But until he does show up on their radar, they buy coats and hats and gloves and learn to like coffee and eat food cooked slowly in a single pot.  Even washing dishes side-by side in the tiny little kitchen becomes enjoyable when Yunho splashes water all over himself and Changmin has a good excuse to stare at his chest and stomach without feeling like a complete pervert.

 

Footsteps plodding up the hallway alert him to Yunho’s presence, but he still can’t manage to get a hold of the widening panic that’s crushing the air from his lungs because being happy is different from being in lust, and he’s not sure what to do about it just yet.  

 

“Changmin,” Yunho’s dressed in soft, comfortable clothes, sweatpants low on his hips and a white sleep shirt that fits his shoulders and falls over his frame, and Changmin only just stops himself from squirming, “I meant to tell you the other day - my department is having a holiday party on Friday.  Spouses and dates are invited, and people wanted us to go.” 

 

It’s not a question, because Yunho rarely asks anything from Changmin outright when it has nothing to do with their jobs.  Instead he waits and lets Changmin decide for himself.  

 

“Yeah, we should go,” he nods, “It would look weird if we didn’t right? I mean, people would wonder where you were.”  Yunho’s always too kind and popular for his own good, regardless of the time period they end up in, like he’s cursed with universal appeal, so undoubtedly people have been bothering him all week about going.  

 

“Okay,” Yunho smiles down at him, bright and disarming, “Thank you.”

 

“No problem,” Changmin swallows and wonders what he got himself into, “But make sure you have your communicator! I’m not missing out on a chance to get home early because of some weird historical tradition.”

 

“But it’s not really history, is it?  Not when it’s technically the present,” Yunho tosses over his shoulder just to needle at Changmin as he heads to the single bedroom, “Make sure you have something nice to wear!”

 

Changmin falls sideways on the couch with a groan, feeling regretful until he imagines Yunho in a sports coat and button up, which helps him feel much less upset about the whole thing. 

 

* * *

 

The hotel’s small ballroom is lit with golden light reflecting off the warm marble floors and high columned ceilings.  The structure gives it an illusion of space with large windows tucked into alcoves and large banquet tables pushed against the wall creating an open floor where people mill about with small plates and glasses of wine and champagne.  It’s been decorated with four Christmas trees, long lengths of garland, and twinkling lights strung across the room.  It’s festive and bright and merry, and Changmin almost doesn’t mind the constant refrain of holiday cheer playing softly from speakers.   

 

Standing quietly by the food table with a glass of champagne in hand, he watches Yunho greet a few of his coworkers, relaxed and smiling and looking beautiful in a dark suit.  Yunho had spent the last hour or so introducing Changmin to dozens of new faces, each nodding in the same satisfied way at finally meeting Yunho’s significant other.   The faint buzzing of his second glass of the bubbly alcohol is working to dull the roiling nervousness in his stomach. He takes another sip, continuing to watch Yunho chat and occasionally laugh.  Delight twists the edges of the older man’s smile, and Changmin feels his own mouth twist in response to the joy on Yunho’s face.  

 

“Ah, you must be Changmin,” a soft voice jolts Changmin out of his staring.  A middle aged woman pauses next to him, pretending to glance at the drink selection, but he can see her watching him out of the corner of her eye.  She’s in a tasteful red dress - full length with wide straps, but a beautiful cut that tastefully accents her slim waist and delicate physique. 

 

“I am,” Changmin turns to her, trying for friendly, “But I’m afraid I don’t know you?” 

 

She waves him off, amusement playing across her face, “I should think that Yunho would talk about you more than he talks about me.  I’m Soobin; I work with Yunho - his manager actually.” 

 

“I hope he doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” Changmin grins, liking the idea of this small, sharp woman bossing around Yunho and the rest of the shift teams. 

 

“Yunho? Good heavens never - I wish I had three of him, he’s always working so hard,” she joins Changmin in watching the other man talk and laugh, and Changmin feels his stomach twist once again as he drinks in how Yunho’s eyes curve upward and how his hand covers his mouth like he’s trying to smother his loud laughter.  But it can’t be helped, and Changmin can hear it ringing from nearly halfway across the lively room.  He should be embarrassed by his own eagerness, but instead he’s plotting ways to get Yunho to laugh more.

 

“He’s always talking about you, you know.”

 

“What?” Changmin turns to her, nearly sloshing the champagne from his glass with the rushed movements.

 

“How you hound him; that you’re kind of a grump during the holidays, but you let him get away with the silliest decorations anyway.”  Changmin grips the flute tighter, trying to ground himself against the buzzing heat rushing to his head, embarrassed at how much of a nag Yunho makes him to be.  Soobin continues knowingly, “He’s always so comfortable, and that doesn’t happen without something stable in his life.” 

 

Changmin chokes, “Oh, well I don’t-”

 

“That’s odd,” she murmurs into her wine, and Changmin snaps his eyes to follow her gaze, “I didn’t realize Yunho and Heechul were so close.”

 

“Heechul?” Changmin squints at a slight, dangerously pretty man who is leaning into Yunho, practically pressed into his side, and Changmin sees red because Yunho isn’t flinching away like a man who’s in a committed relationship should - especially a man in a committed relationship with Shim Changmin.  

 

Even if the relationship is fake.  But no one at this party knows that.  

 

“He’s upper management,” Soobin informs him casually between sips, mouth quirked to the side, “I didn’t realize they knew each other.” 

 

“I’m just going to...” Changmin casts about for an excuse that sounds less petty and jealous and grossly insecure than all of the ones that come to mind as Heechul leans in closer, lips brushing against Yunho’s ear.  His teeth clench and grind as the two of them carry on for another few moments.  Soobin just laughs and waves him away, and he takes her exit gratefully.  

 

Long legs carry him across the ballroom in graceful, liquid movements - years of stealth training difficult to filter from his behavior when he’s so focused on getting to Yunho as quickly as possible.  

 

 _It’s for the sake of our cover_ , he tells himself, _People will wonder if I don’t say anything_.  Disgusted self mockery chants back a laugh at his own lie, and Changmin walks faster until he’s practically on top of the two men, glaring down at Heechul.  

 

“Oh Changminnie!” Yunho greets him with mirthful surprise, arm sliding to Changmin’s waist thoughtlessly, and Changmin feels satisfaction chase over him momentarily at the gesture. 

 

“I don’t think you’ve introduced me to your friend?” Changmin gently pulls Yunho closer against him, and subsequently away from Heechul, who is watching with undisguised amusement.  It’s incredibly unsettling the way his eyes sparkle and glint with some secret joy that Changmin is not privy to yet. 

 

“Oh, of course! This is Heechul,” he gestures at the man, and Changmin pretends like he’s hearing this for the first time, “We work in the same department, obviously.  He’s been so helpful - a real friend to be honest.” 

 

“That’s incredibly kind of you, Heechul,” Changmin narrows his eyes at the way Heechul smiles at where his and Yunho’s hips touch and slowly starts to back away, dragging Yunho with him.  “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need to borrow Yunho for a moment.”  Without another thought he starts dragging Yunho away from Heechul, away from the crowd, stopping beneath one of the alcoves.  It’s as secluded as they can manage in the open spaced ballroom.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Changmin hisses into Yunho’s ear, trying to tuck them further into the corner and away from any potential eavesdroppers.

 

“What did I do?” The genuine confusion in Yunho’s voice twists Changmin’s anger higher, makes it hotter as it drips down his spine, fueled by the heat of his own embarrassment.  He shouldn’t be upset - he shouldn’t care at all, but the hideous truth is that he cares too intensely and the depth and swell of his own emotions scares him into viciousness. 

 

“If you keep touching your way through this party, you’re going to blow our entire cover!” He snaps out across the close space, watching for any change in Yunho’s uncomprehending expression.  “We’re supposed to be in a relationship, a _committed_ relationship!  You can’t just go around cuddling up next to whoever you want!”

 

“Do you mean Heechul?” Yunho looks like he’s about to laugh, and it only makes Changmin more pissed off.  He can feel his hands itching for a weapon or even just to throw a punch to knock Yunho back a few paces, to do something for making Changmin feel this way, even though he knows it’s completely ridiculous to hold Yunho responsible.

 

“Yes, I’m talking about Heechul.  You were practically lying on top of him!”

 

“Changmin, why are you getting so worked up?” The genuine concern turning through Yunho’s voice is even worse than amusement, “Heechul’s just -”

 

“I don’t care what Heechul was doing!” Changmin knows he’s probably about to draw attention, but the gaping envy and possessiveness is pouring out of him, and he’s afraid it can’t be stopped.  “You are not at this party with _him_.”

 

“Are you,” Yunho scrambles for words momentarily, “Changmin, are you _jealous_?”

 

Changmin opens his mouth to deny, to cut Yunho’s assumptions down with the sharpest of lies, but he’s brought up short by a small cough.  Heechul is standing just outside the alcove, and Changmin notices more than one pair of eyes staring in their direction.  Anxiety works its way up from his stomach and into his throat.  He takes an involuntary step towards Yunho, when Heechul speaks.  

 

“Mistletoe,” the pretty man says, a hint of satisfaction running through the word.

 

“What?” Changmin snaps back, ignoring the pleading glance Yunho sends his way.  

 

Heechul points above their heads and repeats, “Mistletoe.” 

 

Glancing up, Changmin sees with dawning horror that there is indeed a bundle of the green sprigs with its small white berries hanging above his and Yunho’s heads.  He remembers from their research on this god forsaken holiday exactly what it means, and he wants to sprint from the hall and never look back, but Yunho’s hand is on his shoulder and anchors him to the spot.  Tittering laughter floats back to them from the crowd, and Changmin knows that no matter what this will be a bit of lovely office gossip for the next few weeks.  

 

Heechul continues to watch with smug satisfaction, “Well, lovebirds, what are you going to do?”  The gleam in his eye is much too knowing, and Changmin realizes like a punch to the stomach that Heechul must be the satellite operator - the one from the Bureau who’s been helping Yunho along the way.  It also means Heechul knows they aren’t actually together, and Changmin has made a complete ass of himself.  

 

Apparently the Bureau likes recruiting people who have a vindictive streak because Heechul’s watching them like it’s his favorite sport, and Changmin wants to scream because he can feel the metaphorical wall at his back.  Changmin slides his glance back to Yunho, trying to gage his partner’s feelings.  Yunho looks surprised, unsettled, but Changmin’s not sure why and he curses because what a terrible time for their wordless communication to break down.  Someone in the crowd whistles and a few people laugh good-naturedly, and Heechul continues to heckle them with his smirk.  

 

Changmin makes his decision when he sees Heechul’s mouth twist further with triumph as the seconds drag out. Feigning a shy smile, he turns to Yunho, sliding his hand against his neck, thumb skimming the underside of a strong jawline, and Changmin can’t help the flicker of pride at how steady his hand is against Yunho’s skin.  Yunho tilts his chin up, and Changmin knows Yunho’s permission when he sees it.  A single breath through his nose, and Changmin leans in. 

 

Yunho tastes like bittersweet cranberries and dry champagne when Changmin finally presses their lips together.  It’s soft and careful, a little too timid for their covers, but Changmin can barely stand the shocks dancing across his lips and down to his toes as Yunho presses back with a muted sound.  Shutting his eyes against the noise, Changmin holds Yunho’s jaw gently as he feels Yunho’s hands run up his arms before gripping above his elbows just a little too tightly, trying to anchor himself.  It’s better and worse than Changmin dreamed.  Better because Yunho is real and responding and so much warmer than he ever realized.  Worse because he can hear the sound of clapping and laughter echoing around them, stopping him from losing himself in this moment completely. 

 

Changmin presses in a little harder for a final instant before pulling away, blinking back against the brightness of the ballroom to take in Yunho’s wide eyes and red mouth, and the rapid breathing brushing against his cheek.   Changmin can feel something stupid on the tip of his tongue, words finally ready to burst to the surface, but he’s cut off by the man he’s planning on holding responsible for all of this.

 

“Very nice,” Heechul smiles, and Yunho releases his grip on Changmin, taking a half step away to turn to face his friend.  

 

“Heechul, you don’t need to be such an asshole,” Yunho frowns, and Changmin wonders if maybe he misread his partner’s reactions because Yunho seems frustrated and not nearly as breathless as Changmin feels. 

 

“I wasn’t the one who was making a scene,” Heechul points at Changmin, “You’re lucky it was me who over heard you and not someone who’d ask more questions.  Besides, it looked like it was perfectly enjoyable.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Changmin mutters, cheeks heating at the truth that he spends the rest of the party trying to forget with more glasses of champagne and light inane chatter with Yunho’s coworkers.  All of whom are tactful enough to only smile kindly at him for the rest of the night until it’s time for everyone to part ways. 

 

* * *

  

The trip back to the apartment is excruciating.  The cab ride is silent and tense - Changmin unable to bring himself to look at Yunho in the dim car.  The itch to reach out is nearly overwhelming, but he won’t do it if it’s unwanted, and he’s not sure it would be welcomed at all.  

 

Their apartment has never seemed so small as when they walk in, and Yunho finally turns and traps Changmin with his stare.  

 

“Changmin, what was that about?”

 

“I don’t know,” Changmin lies because the truth is too much for either of them to handle.  Because the truth is that he wants to have Yunho to himself; he wants to turn that first kiss into a second and thirteenth; he wants to know if Yunho always tastes like cranberries or if it’s something different every morning.  He wants to break Yunho apart and let him do the same because he knows Yunho could.  Yunho could take him down to the very ground and build him back up entirely, and the thought thrills him and sends him running at the same time.   

 

“Don’t lie to me,” it’s not a reprimand; it’s a plea.  Yunho’s eyes are wide again and his entire body is coiled with a tension that Changmin hasn’t seen since their very first mission nearly a decade ago.  

 

“I can’t tell you the truth,” Changmin whispers, and he tries to skirt around Yunho to the bedroom, but his partner has always had exceptional reflexes when he’s needed them.  A hand grabs Changmin’s shoulder and spins him around, pressing him against the wall and pinning him down.  Yunho still doesn’t look angry, but anxiety and maybe a little hurt swim over his expression.  

 

“You mean you won’t.  You _won’t_ tell the truth.  Not even to me?”

 

“Especially to you.”

 

“Why?” It’s so eager, so earnest that Changmin can’t refuse.  He has a feeling he won’t be able to refuse Yunho anything for the next long while.  

 

“Because what are you going to do when you know that I think I might request a transfer when we get back from this mission?”  

 

“A transfer?” Yunho’s grip goes slack, “Wha-? Why would you do that?”

 

The lights of the tree in the corner of the room are too bright and too happy, and Changmin can’t stand any of it any longer.  He would never leave Yunho, could never work with another agent, but he can’t help the lie that helps the truth.  The impossible truth that he might be in love with Yunho. 

 

“Because I’m not going back to just seeing you at the office, or being just coworkers after this is done.” 

 

“Changmin, what the fuck are you talking about?”  Frustration starts to slant Yunho’s eyebrows and harden his mouth, so Changmin does the only thing he can think of to try and explain the chaotic tangle of emotions unfurling in his chest and pushing the air from his lungs.  Twisting his hands into the front of Yunho’s shirt, he hauls the older man forward, catching him against his chest as he stumbles with the unexpected movement.  Yunho presses his hands back on Changmin’s shoulders to steady himself, and the warm weight of him sends a shudder through Changmin. 

 

“Yunho,” Changmin may have miscalculated, but it’s a little too late for second guessing, “Yunho I’m going to kiss you now.”  He leans through the space between them, the inches feeling like miles, until their foreheads press together and Yunho’s exhales brush hot over his own mouth.  Nervousness makes his limbs feel heavy and distant and his heart fights to escape through his throat as he waits for Yunho’s response because he will never touch Yunho unless he wants it. 

 

“You know,” Yunho sighs, dulcet and steady once more, “You’ve always been too perceptive for your own good.” And then they’re kissing again.  

 

Slow and soft turns desperate and messy the second Changmin takes control, hauling Yunho closer to cradle the other man between his thighs and curl his fingers through dark coifed hair.  The tastes from earlier linger, but Changmin pushes his tongue into Yunho’s mouth, mapping and tracing and chasing as Yunho moans softly into his.  The sound breaks Changmin, the neediness of the gasp overwhelming, and Changmin is half-hard in a second.   Yunho’s hands dig painfully into his shoulders and Changmin sucks on Yunho’s gorgeous lower lip, wet and urgent as the tension pulls and finally breaks. 

 

Changmin grips Yunho’s hips harder, gasping when their half-hard cocks brush, and his control snaps like dried used-up rope.  On a whim, he spins them around, pressing Yunho back into the wall, using the meager extra centimeters of height to tower over the other man, sliding a thigh between Yunho’s legs and grinding up so he can watch Yunho’s mouth open and eyes shut at the pleasure.  

 

“Done with pretending, hyung,” the period lingo slips out as he pulls Yunho’s shirt free and glides his hands beneath the fabric to tease and scratch at Yunho’s skin.  Yunho arches and a grin ghosts over his lips when he opens his eyes, pupils blown and glinting.  

 

“Good,” he starts unbuttoning Changmin’s shirt, fingers fumbling with enthusiasm, and Changmin makes it worse with licks and bites pressed greedily into Yunho’s neck. “Now touch me.” 

 

“Demanding,” Changmin mutters, “But I think we’re going to take it slow tonight.”  

 

“Changmin, I want to come,” Yunho growls, and Changmin can’t help the laughter that bubbles from his mouth at the older man’s stern tone - all leader, but Changmin has other plans.   

 

“Don’t worry,” he undoes Yunho’s pants, biting back another noise at the way Yunho shivers when his hand brushes his cock, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”  Dark slacks and boxer-briefs are hurriedly pushed down Yunho’s thighs and kicked off, and Yunho looks magnificent, disheveled and hard and eager for Changmin’s hands. 

 

“God you’re amazing,” Changmin busies his mouth with Yunho’s neck again as he trails fingers through the rough hair at the base of Yunho’s cock, tracing a nail down the length to hear Yunho gasp in his ear and swear when he finally strokes him, languid and steady.  He almost can’t believe it, and he’s half expecting Yunho’s soft moans to be interrupted by the tone of an alarm clock, but it never comes.  There’s just the sound of their gasps, the wet noises of their mouths meeting again and again as Changmin keeps jerking Yunho off. 

 

“Fuck, Changmin,” Yunho curses when Changmin grinds his thigh up, pressing against Yunho’s balls and pushing them tighter against his body. The words feel loud in the tiny space, the air heavier than it was minutes ago, and Changmin cuts them off with another kiss. 

 

Yunho’s cock spits precome into Changmin’s hand, but he wants to watch Yunho break apart.  He picks up his pace and moves to play with Yunho’s chest through the light blue dress shirt, making it wet and sticky with his saliva as he pulls and teases a nipple.  Yunho keens, high and needy, and Changmin thinks he might just come in his pants if it takes Yunho much longer to finish. 

 

“Come on, hyung,” Changmin growls, working Yunho’s dick faster and biting down harder on his chest.   He grinds his own cock against Yunho’s thigh, desperate to rut out his own orgasm.  His eyes threaten to close on a moan when Yunho presses his hips up harder, but he keeps them open to watch Yunho’s face crumple on the downstroke, the fabric of Changmin’s pants rough on his sensitive skin.  One, two, three strokes later and Yunho’s coming, Changmin working Yunho through it as he paints his shirt with spunk.  Yunho collapses back against the wall, boneless and satisfied, Changmin’s leg and hand on his waist the only thing keeping him upright. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Changmin greedily drinks in how debauched Yunho looks with his shirt wet and ruined, stomach painted in his own come, before he hurriedly shoves his own trousers out of the way, pulling on his cock desperately as Yunho watches through hazy eyes.  He’s so close to coming, his movements edged with desperation.  Yunho’s fingers brush up the length of Changmin’s cock lazily and catch at the precome gathering at the tip, and all it takes is Yunho sucking the wetness from his fingers.  Changmin comes with a breathless curse that sounds like Yunho’s name and white spots dance over his eyes as he paints Yunho’s thighs with his semen.  

 

He pulls Yunho from the wall and down the short hallway, legs unsteady as they fall into the only bed together, exhausted and sticky, but he’ll worry about it later.  He sheds his dirty clothes as Yunho shrugs out of his own shirt, neither speaking as they collapse side-by-side.  

 

“Tomorrow,” Changmin mutters into the pillow, “Deal with it tomorrow.” 

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow starts with a piercing alarm, and Changmin cringes as he recalls the previous night with a flutter of anxiety.  He reaches for his cell phone, trying to silence the noise before he remembers that it’s Saturday, and neither of them have work.  

 

“Are you going to get that?” Yunho rolls over, still blinking sleep from his eyes.  The sheets fall around his waist, and Changmin blushes furiously at the red marks scattered across Yunho’s neck and chest, remembering the way his skin had tasted when he put them there.  Changmin scrambles out of bed before Yunho can catch him staring at his own handiwork, not quite awake enough for the possibility of confrontation.  

 

Pulling on last night’s underwear, Changmin stumbles into the front room to see the laptop on their tiny kitchen table flashing an alert, a pinging dot blinking on the screen.  

 

“Yunho!” Changmin shouts, sitting down to monitor the notification, the familiar thrill of excitement displacing the nervousness of waking up next to his partner, “Yunho we have him! Yang’s at the bank trying to make a purchase with the money!” He hears Yunho stumble from the room, dressed in sweat pants, but marks still visible and Changmin pushes the knowledge away to focus on the reason they’re here in the first place. 

 

Yunho squints at the screen, “They gave us badges right?”

 

“Yeah, NDI or something like that; they should do the trick.” 

 

“Excellent,” Yunho stands and smiles, thrilled at the prospect of wrapping this up today. “Suit up, Changmin.  Let’s go grab this bastard.” Changmin just nods, hands twitching on the table top, freezing when he feels Yunho squeeze his shoulder.  

 

“It’s okay, Changmin. Let’s go do our jobs,” and it’s enough reassurance to get him out of the apartment, dressed in a nondescript suit with a convincing badge strapped to his belt. 

 

* * *

 

It’s four days before Christmas and this particular city district is crowded with shoppers.  Bright bags make the space feel even more cramped, and Changmin runs through scenarios to try and figure out how to deal with the people in case this gets ugly.  

 

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Yunho mutters under his breath, reading the way Changmin sucks at his bottom lip, “It’s just Yang.  He wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone get away from us.” 

 

“Wet paper bag?” 

 

Yunho grins, a little sheepishly, “A saying I picked up from a coworker.”

 

“Uh huh,” Changmin doesn’t have time to ask him anything more because they’re standing in front of the bank building.  It’s nondescript compared to some of the other institutes of money this time period has managed to come up with - all concrete and simple windows, green and blue signs proclaiming global ATMs available.  People of all kinds line up to use the machines, but the tellers inside aren’t overwhelmed, which bodes well.  Walking in and flashing a badge tends to be disruptive, and Changmin hates causing too much of a scene during a cuffing.  Makes it more difficult to slip away and jump the prisoner back. 

 

“Well,” Yunho rolls his neck and bounces on the balls of his feet, “Shall we?”

 

No one looks at them twice when they enter the building - most people too focused on their own finances to bother with the two men in suits.  Changmin scans the lobby, but Yang is no where in sight.

 

“He must be in one of the back rooms,” he mutters, and Yunho nods his head, moving to get the attention of one of the tellers.  

 

“Excuse me, but I need to speak to your manager,” Yunho smiles politely, painfully handsome, and the poor girl never stood a chance.  Changmin wonders sometimes if Yunho does it on purpose or if he’s really just that oblivious.  After the worker returns with an older woman following smartly behind her, Yunho launches into the cover story and flashes his badge. 

 

“You mean this man is using stolen money?” She seems scandalized at the turn of events, “We have an excellent system - we should have picked up on it.” 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Changmin tries to be as charming, but still manages to sound more annoyed than Yunho, “He’s a professional.  Now, if you would be so kind as to escort us to where Yang is?” 

 

“Follow me,” she takes them down a side door to where the private offices are, stopping by the third door on the left, presumably the room that holds their target. 

 

“Thank you very much for your cooperation,” Yunho bows slightly, and the manager knows a dismissal when she sees one.  Her heels clack away, and Changmin takes a steadying breath. 

 

Yunho doesn’t spare him a glance, “Ready?”

 

Changmin nods, “Of course.” 

 

They don’t bother to knock, simply barging into the room without any forewarning.  Over the years they’ve found that having a target off balance and slightly confused makes them easier to grab and haul away before too much can be found out by the people in the time period.  

 

It works like a charm.  Yang is huddled over a stack of papers, a banker across from him pointing out various places to sign.  

 

Yunho steps in first, “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re going to have to take this man into custody.”  Yang startles, nearly falling from the chair, face red and eyes panicked as he takes in both Yunho and Changmin filling the doorway.  He has the same look as almost every other target: greedy and mean and cornered. 

 

The banker looks too startled to move, and Changmin shows the poor man his badge for good measure, as Yunho hauls Yang up from his seat, discretely slipping a wrist band onto his right arm and activating the futuristic technology before making use of the antiquated handcuffs.  Yang feels the metal come to life, turning from icy to warm on his skin, and it snaps him out of his shock long enough for him to land a desperate, wild hit to Yunho’s solar plexus.  Yunho doubles over with the loss of breath, grasp on Yang slipping enough for the man to manage a scramble out of his hold. 

 

Changmin lets his reflexes take over as anger flares bright and dangerous.  He strides across the room to take hold of Yang and slam him face-first against the desk, scattering papers onto the floor with the force of the impact.  

 

“You alright,” he twists Yang’s arm for good measure, and the hiss of pain eases some of the hostility hammering through him.  Yunho’s still catching his breath, but nothing else seems to be wrong, and Changmin counts that as a win.  

 

“Sorry for the commotion,” Changmin tosses to the employee as he hauls Yang back upright, grip still tight on the criminal’s arm and metal band still in place.  “Have a pleasant afternoon,” and they exit the office quickly before any further questions can be asked.  

 

“How did you find me?” Yang splutters as they drag him out of the building and towards a nondescript side alley.  

 

“Because you’re an idiot,” Changmin sneers, shoving him forward a little more roughly than necessary.  He glances back to Yunho and pauses when he sees Yunho facing away from the prisoner - a complete breach of protocol that Yunho never commits. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“I though I saw...” Yunho shakes his head and returns to Changmin’s side, “I thought we were being followed, but I’m not sure.”

 

“Well, let’s just get Yang back to the Bureau, so it won’t be our problem.” Now that they have their target in custody, Changmin itches to return to their time, leery of confronting Yunho and having to deal with the mess of their relationship he made last night.  

 

 _Or we made_ , Changmin amends.  Yunho seemed a willing participant last night, but things can look different in the morning, and Changmin wrestles back the questions he has about what they’re doing - if they’re doing anything.  He knows what _he_ wants, but Yunho is a completely different story.  Yunho with his life plans and loyalty and expectations that Changmin has heard about countless times over drinks or dinners as the years of their partnership have passed.  

 

Now all of that has been destabilized, and Changmin isn’t sure what the next step should be - how do you figure out that leap from partners to _partners_. 

 

So lost in the gnarled mess of thoughts, Changmin doesn’t see the assault coming before it’s too late. 

 

Something hard hits him across his back, shooting pain to the tips of his fingers and toes as he crumples to the ground, blinking back darkness as another blow lands across his shoulders, too close to his neck for comfort.  

 

The paved ground is rough on his hands and cheek, and Yunho’s shouting his name, but it takes a few moments for everything to reappear, and when it does Changmin tries to scramble upright to help.  

 

A man in plain street clothes in on the ground, and blood pours through the gaps in his fingers as he cradles his broken nose.   A quick scan reveals Yunho attempting to hold off two other men, similarly dressed, but they’re obviously trained - movements precise and stances dangerous as Yunho attempts to keep them at bay.

 

Changmin pulls himself into a crouch, a little unsteady, and scans the alleyway, relieved to see they’re alone.  It’s just them, and Yang, and their attackers, but he needs to keep it that way - needs to control the situation - so he makes his decision, hand reaching for the slim gun holstered behind the fake badge.  Except this is real, and he’s more than willing to use it.  

 

He silently charges the Beretta-4 Pulse after switching it to “incapacitate” - there’s no reason to make any extra mess before they leave.  Taking careful aim from his spot near the ground, Changmin fires two bursts and watches with no small satisfaction as the assailants collapse in front of Yunho.  For good measure, he stuns the man on the ground with the broken nose.  Better they all have vague memories of what happened.  

 

Satisfied, Changmin holsters his weapon and tries to stand.  A wave of dizziness hits him, and he needs to steady himself against the wall.  He’s going to be a mess of bruises and sore muscles until he can take an accelerant, but relief dulls the ache when nothing feels broken.  

 

Yunho already has his hands back on Yang, pulling him into the middle of the alley with a viciousness Changmin’s only seen a handful of times before.

 

“Did you hire fucking body guards?” he shouts.

 

“You think I would wander around this god forsaken century with that much money unprotected,” Yang has the guts to sneer back, voice nasal and cold, “It’s amazing you managed to find me if you hadn’t managed to think of that.” 

 

“I’ll make sure you never see the outside of the Bureau’s cells,” Yunho promises, removing the old hand cuffs to grab the band around Yang’s wrist before turning to Changmin.  “Are you alright?” 

 

“Yeah, just banged up a little, but I don’t think I can make the jump without giving it some time to rest up first.”  

 

“That’s fine; there’ll be people expecting him on the other side,” Yunho punches in the final coordinates on the wrist band, setting the destination for the receiving room of the Bureau’s containment facility. 

 

“I hope Jumping really fucks you up,” he says to Yang before activating the band and stepping back, and Changmin watches as the businessman collapses in on himself, as if a black hole emerged in the center of his chest and sucked him into the void.   It takes only a moment for him to disappear, leaving Yunho and Changmin alone in the alleyway.  

 

“Well,” Yunho turns to him, smile tight and eyes worried, “Mission accomplished.”  His hands twitch at his side, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he should touch Changmin.  The hesitation twists Changmin’s muscles into a worse mess than the pipe did minutes before, and he just nods, pulling himself upright.

 

“Yeah, I guess we’re done here.” 

 

* * *

  

The pain is ugly and throbbing once they make it back to the apartment on the other side of the city, and Changmin dives for the medical bag they brought with them the second he steps through the door.  It’s barely the width of his hand, but contains more healing power than the local pharmacy down their street on all of its shelves combined.   

 

The accelerator that falls from a small dispenser is round and red, and Changmin dry swallows it before Yunho even has his shoes off.  

 

“I’m going to bed,” Changmin announces, already feeling the affects of the medicine.  The pain is deadening but so are his senses, and he grabs a glass of water to try to prepare for the next two days he’ll spend in and out of consciousness as his body repairs damage that should takes weeks in a matter of forty-eight hours. He brushes by Yunho as he heads to the bedroom with a sense of deja vu, only this time Yunho lets him pass without a word or a touch, and Changmin can’t get under the covers fast enough, like they could shield him from his own inability to deal with any of his emotions.  

 

Instead, the blankets feel like a trap, keeping him in place as the medicine continues to work, dragging him into semi consciousness where he’s plagued by the taste of Yunho’s mouth and the breathless sounds he made when he came in Changmin’s hand.  

 

The next two days are a blur of cold-hot pain razing across his back, and flashes of Yunho’s face.  Sometimes he’s concerned - worry slashing his brows accompanied by a cool hand on Changmin’s forehead; other times he’s crawling up the length of Changmin’s body, seductive like those old time models on the covers of magazines in the store in Hongdae, and Changmin hates these moments because he knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, because those models are nothing like Yunho.  

 

He sleeps through it in fits and starts, and wakes up bright and early on Tuesday morning.  Slowly, he remembers that today is what the people of this century call Christmas Eve. It shouldn’t matter that it’s the day before some antiquated celebration, but it really does, and he finds himself wishing he had bothered to find Yunho a present. 

 

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Changmin fights the ugly growling noise coming from his stomach and the fairly urgent need to piss.  But getting out of bed means facing Yunho, and Changmin refuses to spend another day without talking.  There’s no more mission, nothing to use as an excuse, and he knows he owes Yunho more than what he’s been given.  Changmin delays a while longer by amusing himself with cracks in the ceiling and counting dust mites flitting through sunlight until it becomes impossible to lie still any longer.  With a sigh, he hauls himself out of bed, and takes a moment to relish the pain-free movement before steeling himself to deal with the mess he’s made. 

 

Yunho’s in the kitchen, making something over a burner, looking tired and disheveled, and Changmin realizes that some of the times he saw Yunho’s face over the last few days must have been real.  Guilt threatens to swallow him at the thought of Yunho watching over his recovery when he had never asked and can’t even thank him now as Yunho empties a ramen spice packet into the pot.  

 

The noodles smells intoxicating, and Changmin’s stomach will not be denied, so he announces his presence with a quiet cough and waits. 

 

“You’re up!” Yunho turns, looking relieved and happy at this turn of events, and Changmin ducks his head sheepishly instead of smiling back like he wants to. 

 

“It was just an accelerator.  I was always going to be fine.”

 

“True, but we’re scheduled to Jump tonight, and I’d rather you spend the day up and moving than writhing around in bed.” Yunho turns the burner off and starts pouring the simple food into two bowls, handing off one to Changmin before sitting down himself.

 

They eat in silence, and Changmin doesn’t want to be the one to break it because he knows once he starts talking he won’t be able to stop, so the only sounds for the next fifteen minutes are wet slurping noises and the clanking of chopsticks against the ceramic bowls, but soon enough they’re both done and Changmin looks up from the dregs of the meal to find Yunho watching him carefully. 

 

“Are you going to keep acting like a dog that got sent outside for breaking something?” Yunho clears the table as he asks, leaving Changmin to gape at the empty seat.  

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Changmin, I can practically see the tail between your legs,” Yunho huffs, tossing the dishes in the sink.

 

“I just,” Changmin struggles for the words that had been practically bursting from his mouth moments before, now fighting to get them out past the lump forming in his throat, “I didn’t know what to say to you.”

 

“How about something like ‘that was great and we should do it again’ or ‘next time I want you to go down on me’,” Yunho counters, completely serious and Changmin feels his jaw drop. 

 

“W-What?”

 

“Did you not hear anything I said on Friday?” Yunho pulls Changmin up from his seat, still so careful with him even though they both know he’s healed, “You’re so smart, Changmin, too smart for your own good.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Changmin feels like he’s being slowly submerged, everything buzzing and distant as Yunho stands close, much too close. 

 

“Changmin,” Yunho grips his arms, nails digging into the flesh, “I wanted it too, have for a while, but you’re always so blinded by your own thoughts and what you _think_ I want that you just couldn’t see it.” 

 

“Oh,” Changmin’s usually sharp tongue fails him spectacularly.

 

“Yes, ‘oh’,” Yunho smiles, “Now what are you going to do about it?” 

 

“Kiss you to start,” Changmin hears himself say and decides it’s a great idea, pulling Yunho forward to fit their mouths together for a thirteenth time.  It’s slow, heat curling between them as Changmin cups Yunho’s jaw and angles the kiss so he can lick his way into Yunho’s mouth and drown himself in the taste. The sounds in the tiny kitchen become loud and obscene as they get more desperate, Changmin’s hands curling into Yunho’s hair, and Yunho grabbing harshly onto Changmin’s hips. 

 

“Fuck,” Changmin breaks away, “Let’s take it faster this time.”

 

“Thank god,” Yunho sighs, tracing a hand up Changmin’s spine, fingers dancing over vertebrae and pressing their bodies together.  

 

Changmin looses it when Yunho’s cock, already hard, pushes into his hip, and snaps, “Bedroom. Now.” 

 

“Are you serious?” Yunho starts pulling Changmin back towards the bedroom, apparently taken with this turn of events. 

 

“Yeah,” they get inside, and Changmin wastes no time shoving Yunho back onto the bed, “Wanna fucking ride you.” 

 

“Okay, um,” Yunho scrambles back, “We’ll need things then.”

 

“Things?” Changmin pauses, disappointment threatening his mood, “Shit, do we even have condoms?” Yunho flushes crimson, and Changmin grins. 

 

“I- I got some yesterday,” he mutters, refusing to meet Changmin’s eyes.

 

“Would it be cliche to say ‘Merry Christmas’ right now? Where is it?”

 

“Bathroom,” Yunho flops back on the bed, still embarrassed, and Changmin dashes out and back as quickly as he can manage.  Yunho's tugging the last his clothes off when he gets there, and Changmin can’t get on the bed fast enough.  

 

Soft kisses drag up Yunho’s legs as Changmin works his way up to his mouth, pulling him into another kiss as he tries to open the bottle of lube up and get some on his hands.  It's difficult to focus on anything but Yunho's fingers in his hair and the way his tongue flicks and teases.  Eventually Changmin gets it, spilling some lube onto the bed covers but most of it onto his hand. 

 

“Eager?” Yunho grins into Changmin’s neck as Changmin finally starts to prep himself with muffled gasps, a finger sliding in up to the second joint with ease.  

 

“Yeah, want to feel you inside me,” Changmin breathes into Yunho’s mouth, lips brushing, and Yunho’s hands come up to steady Changmin’s hips as he stretches himself for Yunho, adding another finger, breathing through the stretch until he's loose enough for a third.  It’s quick and dirty, but Changmin doesn't want slow.  Instead he snatches up the bottle and condom, and wraps up Yunho's dick, covering it with slick, so Changmin can sink down on Yunho’s cock, mouth open like it’ll help him relax and open up to how huge and heavy Yunho is inside of him. 

 

“Christ, Changmin,” Yunho’s jaw clenches as he tries not to thrust, and Changmin rocks forward slowly to feel Yunho stretch his entrance further. Yunho’s chest hitches with his accelerated breathing, and Changmin grins, brushing his hair from his eyes. He doesn't want to miss a single flicker of emotion on Yunho's face.  Changmin feels like he’s on fire, sweat breaking out across his skin as he lifts himself up and rides down hard to take Yunho deeper, muffling a gasp as he fucks himself open to hear Yunho's groan.  

 

Fingers dig harder into his hips.  “Are you alright?” Yunho stares up at Changmin like he’s the world and all Yunho ever wanted, and it’s overwhelming and so satisfying after years and days of not knowing, of not thinking he could have this, and it chokes him up because Yunho is always there for him - even like this.  On his back and so desperate for Changmin that Changmin just wants to give it to him.    

 

“Fantastic, Yunho.  I’m fantastic - you’re glorious, now fuck me.” 

 

And Yunho does, grinding up hard before rolling his hips, the rhythm delicious, and Changmin gives as good as he gets, riding Yunho’s cock fast and desperate - too impatient for anything softer and slower, but there will be time for that later - many more times if Yunho’s gasps and the way he pants Changmin’s name like it’s a prayer are anything to go on. 

 

They fuck hard, Changmin pressing a hand to Yunho's chest, pinning him down and controlling the pace. Changmin loves the burn he feels when Yunho’s cock stabs into him and the stinging pain of Yunho’s nails raking over his thighs when Changmin grinds down particularly hard, and he feels like he could melt.  

 

“Not gonna last,” Yunho gasps out, fucking up into Changmin with less rhythm and more intensity with each moment, meeting Changmin's movements with mind-blanking accuracy, and Changmin feels his own orgasm approaching. He scrapes his nails down Yunho’s chest and stomach, teasing and pulling at peaked nipples, wanting to see Yunho shudder and hear him cry out. 

 

“Do it,” he demands, rocking harder, pushing Yunho closer to the edge, “Next time, I want you to come inside me.”  Yunho's eyes flicker shut with a groan as he thrusts up once, twice, then comes with Changmin’s name on his lips.  Changmin rocks him through the climax before letting Yunho’s soft dick slip out of him and reaching for the lube again.  

 

“Changmin, what?” Yunho questions, reaching out for Changmin who bats him away, tying off the condom and tossing it in the general direction of the waste basket before pulling Yunho up off the pillows. 

 

“Hands and knees, hyung,” and Yunho listens, flipping over and steadying himself as Changmin runs his hands over strong thighs, pressing them together and biting into the small of Yunho' back, relishing the shivers that break out across Yunho's body at the possessive touch.  Nails scraping up to broad shoulders, Changmin leans over to bite at Yunho's ear.

 

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he promises as he pours more lube onto his hand to coat his angry, leaking cock, other hand still resting on Yunho's shoulder, a steady weight and touch to keep the other man relaxed and in place. 

 

“I think you mean ‘I’m not going to fuck you today’,” Yunho moans as Changmin slides his cock between Yunho’s thighs. 

 

Changmin can’t manage a response, losing himself in the slick slide of his dick through the warmth of Yunho’s skin and mesmerized by the dance of muscles beneath Yunho’s back.   The press of muscles as he ruts between Yunho's legs, balls hitting the backs of them and length pressing along Yunho's own is maddening, and Changmin thrusts harder, chasing his own pleasure, gasping above Yunho, who rocks back onto him, encouraging him, "C'mon, Changminnie, I want it, cover me."   

 

It’s over before it really begins, Changmin already overly desperate and tired, soreness creeping back into his body.  He lets the heat pool low in his belly, screwing up between Yunho's thighs, until it becomes too hot and the sensation of Yunho moving beneath his hands, back arching and muscles shaking, sends him flying over the edge.  He comes with a curse and a shudder, painting Yunho’s thighs and lower back with pearlescent white stripes, Yunho arching into it, and Changmin curses at the display.  But he can feel the exhaustion freezing his limbs, even if he wants to flip Yunho back over and wait until he can go another round.  Instead, Changmin collapses on his side, Yunho following next to him.  

 

“Quick nap,” the older man mutters, tucking himself against Changmin’s chest, “We Jump later tonight.” 

 

“Right,” Changmin had almost forgotten, and a pang of longing for the stupid small apartment wells up in his chest.  

 

Yunho smiles into his shoulder, “Maybe we can come back some time.”

 

“Maybe,” Changmin traces inane patterns into Yunho’s skin as he thinks about it - coming back to this century on another mission to another city looking for another criminal. 

 

“We could actually stay for a Christmas,” Yunho teases, “And apparently there’s a thing called ‘New Years’ not long after.” 

 

“How many fucking holidays do these people need to come up with,” Changmin groans, pulling Yunho closer, muffling the older man’s laugher against his skin and enjoying the way it echoes through his bones and decides that a real Christmas might be nice if he gets to spend it with Yunho. 

 

* * *

 

 _Three years later (or five hundred and ninety-seven earlier)_  

 

“Changmin!” Yunho hollers from their tiny, shared bedroom as Changmin washes the dishes sitting in the sink. 

 

“I can’t hear you over the water running!” There are days where he still misses instant sanitization.

 

Fingers flying over the touchscreen of a phone, Yunho walks into the kitchen, planting a distracted kiss on Changmin’s cheek, “Heechul wants us to go to his Christmas party.” 

 

Changmin pretends to think about it for a moment, “Fine.  But only if that means we can stay in for New Years.  I have a Christmas present I want to use to start off 2017 the right way.” 

 

“Will I like this present?” Yunho smiles into the crook of Changmin’s neck, lips a soft brush that makes a bowl slip from Changmin’s grip and back into the sink. 

 

“Depends,” soapy water flicks off Changmin’s hands to land impolitely on Yunho’s hair, “how do you feel about handcuffs?” 

 

 


End file.
